On The Feast Of Stephen
by Jayneysuk
Summary: A Christmas story. This was supposed to be a short one shot of Charles and Elsie on Boxing Day. It is still set on Boxing Day but is now a little longer. No real summary as I'm not sure where it will end up. Set post season three so anything up to then may be spoiled.
1. Chapter 1

** On The Feast Of Stephen**

Elsie stood by the tiny window, almost on tiptoe to see out, her fingers almost white as she pressed them against the glass as she watched the snow, the flakes falling as a curtain, crisp and white against the black sky. It was still early, before dawn, and the great house had a stillness about it, creaking pipes and the distant sound of kitchen maids tiptoeing along the corridor the only accompaniment to her moment of indulgence.

It took her back to her childhood, to Christmases on the farm when she would trudge through the snow to gather the cows; to those few minutes when she was allowed to be a child. While the boys were indulging in snow ball fights and building snowmen out of the slushy snow she would lie on the ground and flap her arms, staring at the last of the stars as she created perfect angels. Finally, almost half frozen, she would jump to her feet, herding the cows back to the milking parlour, running and slipping in the snow as she tried to warm up. Sometimes she longed for those days, for her innocence and her freedom, but then she remembered what she had now, the life she had devoted herself too and it all seemed like someone else's life.

With one last lingering look at the snow, a final image of her mother on the doorstep holding a steaming mug of milk, she gave a deep sigh and set about preparing herself for the day ahead.

-0-0-

"Good morning, Mr Carson," she said with a smile as she peered in through the open doorway to his pantry. Her eyes briefly scanned the room, taking in everything before he rose and commanded her attention. The curtains were drawn, the fire already burning, the ledgers carefully stacked at the corner of his desk and she knew without asking that he had been up for sometime, the reason for his early rising no doubt very different to her own.

Charles glanced up from his book, a small smile forming on his lips. "Good morning, Mrs Hughes." He rose to his feet, leaning forward slightly in an almost bow, adjusting the waistcoat that barely covered his broad chest. "I see we're both getting an early start."

Elsie took a small step into his room, crossing the threshold finally. "I couldn't sleep," she offered by way of explanation, knowing he wouldn't pry further. There would be no point in telling him that she had been watching the snow, remembering snow angels and cocoa from her childhood. He would only find her frivolous. "I was going to make some tea, would you like some?"

He nodded, acknowledging that his few minutes of reading had become an hour, and that he was actual parched. "I would. Maybe one of the kitchen maids could fetch us some."

"They have enough to do. I'll make it." In truth she liked to do little things for him, for them. She had never had a husband, he had never had a wife, their friendship was as close to domestication that either of them would ever come. Now and then, when he was so inclined he did kind, simple acts for her too, and she appreciated each and every one, and she hoped he accepted her gestures in kind.

"And we can take it here together. The family won't be awake for a few hours and the maids are going to be occupied," Charles announced, moving around the desk to rest against it. "Maybe we can sit by the fire." When he had woken after too few hours sleep he had been chilled to the bone, the fire while frivolous seemed a necessity on this morning if he was to get anything done. It didn't escape his notice that she was almost white with cold, her dress too thin for the time of year. A few minutes and a little heat would, he hoped, bring colour to her cheeks.

Elsie turned to leave, her smile widening as a thought occurred to her. "Would you like me to make some toast?" She heard the groan rather than caught the face he pulled. "I'll take that as a no."

"You know how I feel about that damn contraption," he grumbled. "Besides Mrs Patmore will be starting breakfast shortly. I wouldn't want to upset her."

"That'll be a no to a couple of shortbread fingers then too," Elsie commented with a light teasing tone, one eyebrow arched as she turned to look at him.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I think I might be able to manage one or two."

"Or three or four, knowing you," she muttered under her breath as she crossed the hallway to the kitchen.

Charles pushed himself away from the desk and moved to the drafty window that overlooked the courtyard, although overlooked was a slight exaggeration. His view was of ground level and the legs of the bench where Thomas liked to sit on his break. This particular morning his view consisted of a good three inches of snow which had built up against the pane over night.

He let out a deep groan as he considered what the sudden turn in weather would mean for the house. There would of course be positives to the situation; Mrs Crawley and the Dowager would most likely stay at home so there would be two less guests for dinner. However it also meant that the family would be less likely to venture outside the house. Whilst they enjoyed a walk, even over a snow covered estate, the young women were unlikely to venture out while it was still falling quite so heavily; designer gowns and delicate heels were hardly practical for such conditions. Trapped inside the family would get bored and require constant attention which meant more work for the maids and Mrs Hughes. Then, with the family all in attendance, his Lordship would want a formal luncheon. Well, he mused as he continued to stare at the blur of white, his mother had always told him there was no rest for the wicked, and heaven knows some of the staff had been bordering on that of late.

"You look like you're miles away," she said softly. She had entered the room as quietly as she could so not as to disturb him but found herself watching him, feeling almost guilty for intruding and she had to say something.

"It's still snowing," he commented, turning from the window and moving to take the tray, swatting her hands away when she protested. "I was just thinking . . ."

"That we're in for a busy day," she finished for him.

He nodded, as he placed the tray on the small side table. "And a long one. I'll get one of the hall boys to exercise Isis, keep him from under foot."

Elsie settled herself in one of the two formal chairs and smoothed down her dress. "Make sure he has a few old towels handy. I don't want the flipping thing treading snow all through the house."

"And I thought you had a soft spot for him," he teased, pouring steaming hot tea into two cups.

"I think you'll find, Mr Carson, that as much as some things, and people, may annoy me, I still have a soft spot for them," she offered, meeting his eyes and taking the proffered cup of tea. The heat from the fire was starting to move up through her body, banishing the aches and pains and she relaxed a little.

"Useful to know," he replied, smiling a little, bringing his cup to his lips as a bell rang down the corridor.

Elsie moved to stand and he waved her down, "Stay where you are, drink your tea. I'll take care of it." It wouldn't be the last time it rang, he was sure, and he didn't see any point her attending to whatever the problem was when he had been up for hours. She was just starting to have a healthy glow about her and he thought she might need a few more minutes. "I'll attend to whatever it is and be back." Charles took one step then turned and grabbed a biscuit from the plate before heading back down the corridor.


	2. A Moment Or Two

As I said before this is pure fluff. I was hoping to have this posted a few weeks ago but struggled to find my muse. Still not entirely happy but I really want to post the final part on Boxing Day.

* * *

On The Feast Of Stephen

Part Two

Elsie closed the door to the nursery with the softest of clicks and headed back down the corridor, her ankle length skirt swishing around her. The second floor was eerie quiet, the only sounds drifting from the building itself, the creaks of floorboards and a light rattling as the latest flurry of snow hit the window pains; the relative peace was a rarity in a house full of people. These were the moments she loved the most, minutes, sometimes even a half an hour when she could inspect the rooms, checking and double checking the maids work, and allow herself the indulgence of believing she was totally alone in the Abbey. She paused, her ears instantly picking up on the presence of someone else.

"You didn't come down for luncheon," the familiar voice stated, before her mind had time to process who it was that was seeking her out, the tone laced with concern.

She turned and found him hovering in an alcove, his posture almost completely vertical but for the slight paunch that betrayed him. Raising an eyebrow she waited for him to say something but he remained silent, carefully studying her.

"Sybil hasn't been very well and the nurse needed to fetch the medicine and change the sheets," she explained moving towards him with a sigh. "I said I would sit with her."

"That's not really your job." He finally stepped out of the shadows and joined her on the small balcony overlooking the Great Hall. "You have enough to do I would have thought."

"It's not really a job," she offered with a kind smile. "It's impossible to feel anything but joy when she opens her eyes and stares up at you or one chubby little hand grips at your finger. Except maybe sadness when you think . . ." She faltered, dropping her gaze to the carpet rather than show him the weakness of her grief. "Anyway the long and short of it is that she was sick all down my dress, and I needed to change, and then I became caught up in everything." In truth she had avoided the Servants Hall, instead taking her time to change, and preferring to wander the First Floor alone rather than be surrounded by people.

"You need to eat." His eyes narrowed as he cast his gaze over her. The dress, he noted was now slightly too big, the result he supposed of skipping meals and trying to plan Christmas. The festivities now over he would need to ensure she ate, maybe surreptitiously bringing sandwiches with their evening drink or suggesting afternoon tea. Of course she would fight him, but that had never made him give up yet.

"You need to sleep," she countered, with a crooked smile, her arms crossing in front of her body at his inspection.

"Touché." Twenty years of working and living side by side and they knew each other maybe too well.

Elsie glanced back towards the nursery. "Sybil has some colour in her cheeks again."

He followed her gaze. "Should I call Dr Clarkson?"

She shook her head firmly. "She just has a little cold. Babies get them all the time."

"So are you going to get yourself some food now?"

She waved him off with a hand. At times he was like a little old woman, constantly fussing and interfering; at times it was endearing, on this occasion, when she felt like wallowing, he was just annoying. "His Lordship has asked to see me."

"Oh?"

"He sent Alfred to find me."

"It'll be about the shoot. If this weather continues the guests won't be able to make it up here." Charles let out a sigh. He had been planning the shoot for months, consulting the gamekeeper on the best shooting spots, working with the gardeners to fix up the barn and now it was for nothing.

"Thankfully I haven't made up the beds yet."

"You sound relieved," he stated, his tone almost incredulous.

Elsie rolled her eyes, knowing that she was making him angry, maybe even a little on purpose. "That I won't have another twenty guests in the house, that the maids won't be run ragged making up beds and cleaning rooms, not to mention ladies maids and valets who need chaperoning. Yes, Mr Carson, I am relieved." Her voice while low and controlled held a slight edge to it.

"Do you know how much work has gone into organising it?" he asked gruffly, disbelief that she was once again dismissing how important such an event was to the house, to his family.

"Yes, I do, because I have spent the last few months trying to ensure Mrs Patmore had enough food to feed everyone, that every single sheet in this house was clean and ironed, and my allocation of rooms met your exacting standards," she snapped, pulling herself up to her full height before him.

His eyes widened and he took a step back.

"And as I said his Lordship has asked to see me." With a swish of her skirt she brushed past him leaving him rooted to the spot, his jaw slightly agape, his head shaking in disbelief.

"Mrs Hughes?" he called after her but she was gone and while he knew that she was annoyed with him for once he wasn't entirely sure what he had done to set her off.

"You like that, don't you, you daft boy," Elsie whispered, scratching the fur behind his ear.

Isis leaned his head to one side, resting it on her knee, and nuzzling against her skirt.

"We'll you'd better not let Mr Carson catch you in here. I'll never hear the end of it." Picking up the towel she continued to dry off his back, her hands gentle as she tried to remove the flakes of snow that had embedded themselves in his coat. "Fancy that silly boy letting you roll in the snow."

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught her attention and she knew she had been rumbled. "Did you need something, Mr Carson?" Elsie asked, stubbornly refusing to look at him as she continued to make a fuss of the dog.

"No, Mrs Hughes, I was just doing my rounds." A smile tweaked at his lips as he watched her stroke the dog, the very animal she frequently bemoaned for leaving muddy paw prints through the house and yet at every opportunity he caught her feeding scraps.

"And is everything satisfactory?"

"Yes." While he would generally explain in detail how he found the house, something about her melancholy made him hold his tongue.

A bell rang down the hallway and she finally looked up at him, wistfully. "I'm beginning to long for the days when your young ladies took afternoon naps."

"They were playing parlour games when I left them."

"Apparently not anymore."

"I should go and see what's needed," he finally announced as they continued to stare at each other.

"Or you could let one of the footmen or the under butler," Elsie retorted, knowing there was little chance of him letting anyone else deal with whatever was required.

Charles hovered for another second or two, before stepping out of the doorframe into the hallway. "I should go."

Elsie rolled her eyes and patted the golden fur beneath her fingers. "Yes, I'm sure you must."

"I. . ." he hesitated, not really sure if it was the right time or quite what reaction he would get, but needing to know for his own peace of mind. "Is everything alright, Mrs Hughes?"

She furrowed her brow, and tilted her head, watching with a half smile as he tried to find a way to voice his concerns. "Oh that earlier. I'm sorry. It was nothing that a little fresh air wouldn't cure."

"But you would tell me if there something wrong."

Elsie gave him a full smile. "I would. But there isn't. You shouldn't keep the family waiting."

Charles nodded, "Right." He met her eyes once more, satisfied that she was alright, before he turned and headed off down the corridor.

"Infuriating man. I guess you're presentable enough to return to your master," Elsie offered softly when he was out of sight. "So I suppose we should head upstairs." She rose to her feet and tickled his ear one last time. "Or we could sneak by the kitchen and see if Mrs Patmore has any Roast beef left."

Isis lifted his head expectantly as though he understood everything she was saying and gently nudged her leg.

"Kitchen it is then."


	3. Chapter 3

A night later than promised but blame it on a little too much Christmas spirit. I like where this has ended up and hope it doesn't disappoint too much.

**A Nightly Ritual**

Charles carefully positioned the circular tray on one hand and knocked firmly on the door, waiting less than patiently until she called out for him to enter. Pushing open the door with his free hand, he stepped into view. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I . . . " he trailed off at the sight of Anna sitting in the visitors chair, a crocked smile on her lips.

"Anna was waiting for Mr Bates. His Lordship has only just retired for the night."

"Oh, in that case I'll leave you to it," he said, reluctantly turning to leave.

Anna rolled her eyes, wondering if either of them knew how predictable and incredibly sweet they had become over the years. Determined not to intrude on their time together she rose to her feet. "I'm going to see if he's done yet. Please don't leave on my account." Her eyes fell on the clear crystal decanter and the deep burgundy liquid and she smiled again. "I'll see you both in the morning. Have a good night Mrs Hughes. Mr Carson."

"Good night Anna," the older woman called, moving around her desk to the small table and clearing enough space for the tray.

"Good night Mrs Bates." Placing the tray carefully on the table, he settled himself on the visitors chair. "His Lordship says its a good vintage, although I'm not sure the girls appreciated that."

My how she liked a good vintage, she mused, even if the vintage currently sitting opposite was slightly over aged, stubborn, obstinate and prone to leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She inwardly mocked herself for her thoughts, blaming it on what had been an even longer day than usual. "Have you been outside at all today?" she asked, sipping from the tiny glass, hoping that he hadn't noticed the flush that now covered her cheeks

"I checked on the yard before dinner," he replied his eyebrows forming a deep vee in the centre of his brow as he considered her question. "It's hardly the weather for taking a stroll."

"Maybe it's my Scottish roots or maybe there is something romantic about snow but I've been wanting to be out there all day," she offered wistfully, the drink warming through her, freeing her tongue. When she looked up he was staring at her, his features a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

"Are you saying that you'd like to take a walk, now, at this time of night?"

"I'm not asking you to come with me," she snarked, annoyance spilling through at the incredulous tone of his voice. "I'm just saying I'd like to enjoy the snow a little." Maybe she was a little to old to stretch out on the ground and wave her arms about but the feel of snowflakes on her cheek took her back to happy times and sometimes she needed a little of that.

He let out a deep sigh. "Drink your wine and if you still want to, when the others have gone to bed, we can take a quick tour around the grounds."

"Really?" she asked suspiciously, slightly disbelieving that he would indulge her such frivolity.

"Think of it as a belated Christmas present."

"I didn't get you anything."

He wanted to tell her that this, sitting drinking wine, was enough of a present, that witnessing a pure unadulterated smile was like Christmas morning but he would never say any of these things. "Perhaps when we return you can make me some cocoa, warm me through."

Her smile widened. "It would be the least I could do."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they sipped their wine and waited for the staff to head off to bed. Twenty or so minutes later the last good night echoed out and a stillness descended on the basement.

Elsie took one last sip of her wine and carefully placed her glass on the table.

He chuckled as he watched her, her patience clearly waning as he slowly finished off his wine, her fingers toying with the stem of the glass, her eyes darting intermittently to his glass. There was something quite endearing about her in the lamplight, her enthusiasm for something so silly etched on her face. "Shall we go?" he asked when she had reached the point of fidgeting, no longer able to contain herself.

"I'll get the coats."

Once they were well wrapped up Charles followed her up the small staircase that led from the servants corridor to the courtyard. As the door opened he felt the cold wind seep through his coat and he shivered. "You realise we could catch our death out there."

"We'll only be out for a few minutes," Elsie assured him, her skin pinking up in the cold.

"You're not going to go mad and insist on a snowball fight are you?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "No. Although the idea does have some merit. Seriously Mr Carson, if you really don't want to walk with me, I can go alone."

It was his turn to look horrified. "As if I'd allow you to go out alone. In this." He indicated the door, motioning for her to hurry up, and she stepped out into the night.

Her first thought was that it was freezing, the cold permeating her coat and boots; the second was that it was a beautiful sight. The newest flurry of snow had already covered the well worn path to the store sheds with a fine dusting and the roofs were heavy with snow fall.

"So where do you want to go?" He asked, leaning in to her ear, blowing warm air against the bare skin.

"Anywhere," she breathed, startled by her own reaction to his nearness.

Gently, oblivious to the effect he'd had, he took her hand and linked it through his arm. "Once around the building to the old tree and back. That sound satisfactory, ma'am?"

She nodded enthusiastically and they began to walk in silence, a bright smile on her face as she took in the surroundings, everything blanketed in white, the two of them completely alone in the night.

Charles watched her, a small smile forming on his lips at her pure unadulterated happiness, wishing like a silly school boy that he could see more of her like that and know that it was the result of something he had done.

"Thank you for this," she said, finally breaking the silence as she removed her hand from his arm and took a few tentative steps away from him. "I used to love early mornings on the farm when it snowed. We'd run across the fresh snow, making as many foot prints as we could, and I'd make snow angels."

"You're not going to do that now, are you?" he asked nervously, his thoughts for once not about the propriety of their behaviour but whether he would be able to pull her up again.

"I'm not sure I'd get up again."

"I'd help you if you really felt the urge."

She laughed, turning around as snow fluttered against her coat. "No, but thank you."

Charles watched her spin and asked hesitantly, because it had suddenly become important that he was, "Am I forgiven?"

Elsie stopped turning in the snow, her hands still extended outwards. "For what?"

He shrugged. "I upset you earlier."

"You didn't. I promise. Whilst I never get bored in my job, sometimes the house can be a little claustrophobic, the air a little stale. It was snowing outside and it looked so pretty and it took me on a nostalgia tour. I just needed to be outside."

Charles nodded in understanding. "And now that you have can we go back inside?" he asked, raising his shoulders to his face in an attempt to get warm. "I think it's getting heavier."

"And you want your cocoa."

"It would be nice. And there's always tomorrow. Maybe you could run some errands in the village. The paths will still be covered and no one will mind if you want to get some air."

Linking her arm through his, she smiled. "I think I might. Thank you."

-0-0-

Charles rubbed his hands together as he stamped his feet, trying to regain feeling in his extremities. One more minute outside and we wasn't entirely sure he would ever feel his toes again.

Elsie poured milk into a pan and placed it on the range before turning to face him. "Cold hands."

"I can't feel my feet either."

"It wasn't that cold," she grumbled, spooning cocoa powder into two cups.

Taking one measuring step he placed a hand against her cheek, his palm brushing her chin, his fingertips touching her hair.

His touch brought a shiver to her body and she lifted her hand to cover his, preparing to take his large hands in her small ones, tenderly rubbing them until colour returned.

The second his hand made contact with her skin he felt a sudden rush of warmth, his cheeks flushing pink as he regained feeling in areas of his body he hadn't even realised were cold. "Mrs Hughes," he said, clearing his throat, his gaze focused on the top of her head.

"You should really keep a pair of gloves in your pocket," she chided gently, lowering their hands until she could clasp his between both of hers, rubbing gently.

"I'm not sure this is appropriate," he groaned as her fingers began to have the desire effect.

"Letting you catch a chill isn't all that appropriate."

He glanced nervously towards the open doorway.

"Oh for goodness sake, go wait in my sitting room and I'll bring you some cocoa." For a moment outside in the peace of the night she knew he had forgotten he was the butler, laughing and taking her arm with ease, acting as though he had forgotten the world. They had been friends enjoying a little downtime after Christmas, nothing less. She allowed his hand to slip from between hers as she turned back to the stove, sudden disappointed in him.

Charles headed to her sitting room, his head hung low and dejected. The warmth of her skin had awaken long hidden feelings within, feelings that he had never voiced, never could. For a brief few minutes he had been certain they were returned but now he had alienated her further by his simple refusal to allow her to show him the kindness of friendship.

"Have you warmed up any?" she asked when she joined him a few minutes later, moving the wine glasses to make room for the hot drinks.

"I'm sure I will once I get to bed." He regretted his words the instant he said them, her brow furrowing, her eyes suddenly cold.

"Well as nice as it might be I think it might be considered even more inappropriate for us to be alone in your bed."

He flushed pink. "Mrs Hughes!" he blustered. "Are you quite drunk?"

"Sadly not. Maybe you should just take your cocoa and go to bed," she suggested, not even trying to hide her disappointment. "I'm not tired yet."

Charles shook his head, loathe to bring an end to their time alone. Rising to his feet he closed the door firmly with a thud and brought his chair closer to hers.

She arched an eyebrow in surprise at his gesture.

Settling himself back in his seat he lifted the steaming mug to his lips, the heat from the cup warming his fingers, the steam brushing his face.

"Better?"

He nodded.

"I suppose now that Christmas is over we should start preparing for New Year. I won't be able to air the rooms as I'd like, not with all the snow," Elsie offered, trying to make idle conversation. As his surprised expression she asked," I thought you'd want to talk work."

"I think for one night we can forget about the endless chores and just enjoy each others company."

"Words I never thought I'd hear from your lips," she said glibly.

"You'd be surprised."

Nursing her cup, she lifted it to her lips, enjoying the feeling as the warm milky drink slipped down her throat warming her from the inside out.

An involuntary shiver ran through his body and she moved towards him, her hand settling unconsciously on his knee. "Maybe I should have put a few drops of brandy in it.

"I'm fine." His hand covered hers. "See."

Silently, slowly, she turned her hand over, entwining her small delicate fingers with his calloused ones. "Much warmer."

Charles glanced at their hands, knowing that he should remove his immediately but finding himself unable to. How something that felt so right could be so wrong he couldn't reason and for one evening he wasn't about to try. His fingers tightened around hers and he couldn't resist glancing up and meeting her eyes. The smile he received in return was probably the best Christmas present he could ask for.

Lapsing into silence, their hands entwined, neither wanted to break the spell. They had been friends and colleagues for nearly twenty years but he couldn't remember a time when he had felt so perturbed in her presence. Of course a lot had happened in the past year, they had lost Lady Sybil, a new life had burst forth in the house and he had been forced to consider the possibility that he might lose her. Silently he glanced at her, wondering when he had began to think of her as his constant.

"Are you alright Mr Carson?" she asked with a smile as she turned and caught him staring at her, a strange wistful expression crossing his features.

"Yes, quite alright," he replied, almost dismissively. "Why?"

"For someone who balks at sentimentality, you looked almost sentimental."

"I think the cold must be addling your brain."

She rolled her eyes, not in the least bit surprised by his reaction. "Or the light."

"Quite."

The minutes ticked by and he resumed his musings, the mug before him now empty.

"It's time I went to bed," Elsie said wistfully, stifling a yawn and breaking into his reverie.

"It's hardly worth it. We have to be up in four hours."

She glanced at the clock and back at him. "I didn't realise it was that late."

"Time flies when you're having fun."

"Is that what we were doing?" she asked, only half in jest. As nice as the evening had been she had felt a shift in their relationship, maybe a strengthening in their friendship or maybe a silent tacit acknowledgement that they meant more to each other than was proper. Either way it didn't make her uncomfortable.

The question hung in the air between them, neither acknowledging the truth, their eyes darting around the room, focusing on anything but each other.

"I've never really had a friend like you," he admitted solemnly finally stealing a glance in her direction.

"I'm glad you consider us friends," she replied sincerely, wondering how such a simple word could relate to something so complex.

He looked at her, taken aback by her statement. Surely she realised how much he admired her, how just having her beside him made his day better. Of course he had never voiced such a statement, relying instead on deeds and appropriate actions.

"I prefer when you treat me like a friend rather than just another person you can boss around." Her eyes danced a little as they met his, almost challenging him to deny the fact.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I prefer your teasing to your snapping."

"Keeps you on your toes though," she offered with a smile, glancing again at their entwined hands.

"Always." He watched as she failed to stifle yet another yawn. "Would you permit me to walk you up?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, ever fearful of who might hear.

She swallowed hard, taking a sharp intake of breath before venturing, "Always."

His smile, a wide genuine, relaxed one was a wondrous sight and she grinned back at him.

Charles rose to his feet, his hand still enclosing hers, assisting her until she was upright, then holding on until the door was open and the light turned off. Finally he released hers but their bodies remained the same distance apart as they headed down the hallway and they began to climb the stairs. As their path narrowed he slipped behind, following her as she took each step.

"I hope you're behaving yourself back there," she commented, almost hesitantly that she would offend him.

"Always," he said, his cheeks tinging pink in the darkness as he tried to banish the inappropriate thoughts from his mind, his eyes finally rising up her body from the gentle curve of her bottom.

Elsie turned, one eyebrow raised. "It is Christmas Mr Carson."

"And a very nice one it is too," he said, avoiding her eyes in the dimness of the stair well.

Laughing she continued, not in the least bit offended that he was clearly not referring to the festive season.

They finally reached the small landing where two sets of staircases lead to the separate male and female quarters and where they would part company. They hovered, not really sure how to end the evening.

"Well. . ."

"I suppose. . ."

Elsie laughed as they both spoke at the same time. "Goodnight Mr Carson."

"Goodnight, Mrs Hughes."

She was about to make her way up the stairs when something stopped her. Feeling brave she turned, gently entwined her fingers with his, squeezing lightly, before practically running up the stairs two at a time.

Charles glanced down at his fingers, still warm from her touch and up at the now empty staircase. A small smile tweaked at his lips and he shook his head, perplexed at the turn of events. Christmas he concluded was making they both slightly mad, her and her snow, and him, and well her. With another small shake of his head and in the knowledge he wasn't going to sleep for thought of her he turned and headed back down the stairs to the basement, the impending dawn an end to Christmas and possibly the start of something more.

The End


End file.
